The Kissing Curve
by wave obscura
Summary: A couple of locals stumble upon Sam and Dean, who are flu-ravaged, delirious and trying to hunt a ghost. Fever, cough, sneezing, and nonsensical banter ensue. Also, Sam on crutches. Sick!boys, hurt!Sam.
1. Chapter 1

The Kissing Curve

by wave obscura

PART ONE

Kissing Curve is at the end of Brown Barn Road, a winding goat path that leads to the grange hall and the feed store.

The grange hall and the feed store have been rotting there on Brown Barn Road for the better part of thirty years. Nobody buys feed anymore. They don't buy feed because there are no farms, just identical manicured fields snatched up long ago by an industrial grower that ate up the land with the business-like efficiency of a swarm of locusts.

According to Jamie's mother, the old grange hall was once alive with quaint local events, socials, harvest festivals, square dancing lessons and AA meetings. Then the building's foundation began to sink and a big crack appeared on the south wall and the owner didn't have the money to tear it down, so he boarded up the windows and moved to Florida with his wife.

Then the county stopped repaving the road beyond the feed store and the grange hall. There was nothing out there anyway, just a baby lake Monsanto had polluted so badly it wasn't swimmable anymore, not unless you wanted your skin to slough right off.

So nature quickly reclaimed the road, forming a wild cul-de-sac of blackberry bushes and creeping vines that swallowed the buildings damn near completely, joining them together in a haphazard twenty-foot ensnarement, a wall of unchecked growth.

The spot offered seclusion, a commanding view of the moon and a thousand stars, and that is what attracted all the horny teenagers who gave Kissing Curve its name.

Emily Ames and Andrew Floyd, sixteen years old, had a disagreement up there in 1994. Andrew thought that they should have sex; Emily begged to differ. There was a scuffle and Emily fell out of the bed of Andrew's dad's pickup, hit her neck wrong and broke it and died.

There is still a memorial up there for Emily Ames, a teddy bear dressed like a police officer encased in a plastic box. It's a little bit shabby now, all scratched and keyed and splattered in bird shit, but it was her favorite childhood toy and it's the thought that counts.

Emily's death didn't stop the teenagers from driving out to the Curve on Saturday nights, though. In fact, the memorial and the abandoned buildings gave the place an air of romantic morbidity; making out up there felt especially rebellious.

So teenagers kept dying, one every couple of years. Boys this time, not girls. It was like their souls were sucked right out of their bodies, leaving them flat and leathery and little more than skin.

Now no one goes to Kissing Curve. It is just as forgotten as the grange hall, as the feed store, as the old farming community, as Emily Ames' memorial teddy bear.

Jamie still remembers, though, because fifteen years ago it was her favorite spot in the world. It's where she met her boyfriend Kevin and where she lost her virginity (not necessarily in that order). And she wants to visit again, because today is her twenty-ninth birthday, which is depressing and shitty, and now that the birthday sex is over they're laying in bed watching the news, something about a mailman getting suspended from work for pissing on an apartment building.

"I'm fucking old," she says to Kevin, sucking birthday frosting off her thumb. "Let's do something dumb and childish. I want to have a pre-mid life crisis."

"We can't afford a Corvette," Kevin replies, belching into his can of Pabst. He nods at the TV. "Can you believe the shit they call news?"

"Kissing Curve. We can buy some grape Mad Dog. Like the good ole days."

Kevin pretends to gag into his beer. "Sounds good."

So he puts one of his old cardigans, the one with all the holes in it, a Motorhead shirt underneath it that stretches unflatteringly over his budding beer gut. She digs her ratty old Doc Martens out of the back of the closet, and they stop for a minute in front of the mirror to lock elbows and laugh at how ridiculous they look. Then they go.

They speed down Brown Barn Road's dark curves, listening to old grunge music, swilling cheap beer. It's pouring down rain, absolutely pouring, and Kevin keeps switching off the headlights to freak her out because she hates how everything goes black, like they're careening into nothingness, nothing but dark water and windshield wipers.

She's choking on beer and laughing hysterically and _he keeps his cigarettes close to his heart_ is ringing in their ears and she is just starting to think that maybe twenty-nine isn't that bad when Kevin flips the headlights back on and there it is-- a big black car parked halfway across the road and they're a hundred feet away from plowing right into it.

"OH FUCK," Kevin bellows as he slams on the breaks. The truck skids a good thirty feet, jerking to a goddamn-that-was-close stop just feet from the car.

She's about to smack Kevin upside the head when she sees him-- a boyish-looking man with squinting, feverish eyes sprawled on the ground, propped up on one hip near the open driver's side door, like maybe he fell. He's got a cell phone, and quickly losing interest in the truck's glaring headlights, he looks down at it like he has no idea what it is, thumb hovering confusedly over the glowing screen.

Jamie gets out of the truck first. One of the man's legs is unnaturally straight, his foot sheathed in a cast. He has a crutch in one hand, its brother discarded an arm's length away.

"Hey," she says, "you alright?"

The man looks up. "She broke down. Dean-- Dean, he's right up the road. He's gonna burn it and come right back."

Jamie motions for Kevin to get out of the car. She kneels down at eye level with the man. "Honey? What's wrong with you?"

"Dean says don't get in the car with strangers," The man says drowsily, "You never know, it could be a demon."

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Dean," he says, "Dean calls me Sammy. But I don't like it."

"What... what do you like to be called, then?"

"Um." The man closes his eyes for a moment, thinking. "Sammy."

"He okay?" Kevin calls. He's still hovering by the truck.

"I think he's delirious." She wipes the wet bangs off Sammy's forehead. "He's burning up. Get your ass over here, help me get him up."

Kevin creeps up beside her. "What the hell we gonna do with him?"

"He says his friend Dean went up the road for help."

Sam studies them suspiciously through a curtain of wet bangs. "He's not my friend. He's my big brother. And he put on my pansy-ass music for me but it's cold."

"Jame," Kevin says, "he's out of his fucking mind."

"Yeah," Jamie says, thinking.

"Maybe he's trippin' balls or something. Maybe there isn't a Dean. Put him in his car and let him sleep it off."

"There's a Dean," Sammy says. Chin to chest he coughs wet and hard into his lap. "My leg hurts." He looks at Jamie, his thin mouth sloping downward into a little frown. "Can you tell Dean my leg hurts?"

Jamie inspects the leg, folding the denim over and pushing it up. Poor thing is sitting in a mud puddle and the cast is wet and caked in dirt but looks fresh. Really fresh. He must have really done a number on himself because it goes all the way up past the middle of his thigh.

"Doesn't look like you did any more damage. Come on, sweetie." She plucks the crutch out of his hand and slides the cell into his jacket pocket.

He looks down at his fingers, flexing them like he's not sure what happened. "My cell is gone," he says, stunned.

She hooks Sam's arm around her neck and scowls up at Kevin. "You gonna help me?"

Kevin hesitates. "I think we should just call the cops."

"Yeah good idea. I'm sure they'll be here in two hours or not all. Come on. Get his other arm."

"No more Surf 'N' Turf for us again, ever," Sammy mutters. "I don't wanna go to jail."

Taking a few moments to fidget impatiently like a three-year-old, Kevin finally kneels down and takes Sam's other arm.

"Careful Kev, he's got a broken leg."

"Yeah I saw that."

"Well _careful_ then."

Sammy's just a tiny little thing sitting on the road, looks like a lost little boy, but once they try to move him it's like he magically expands, suddenly he's a full head taller than both of them with great big muscles and he weighs a ton. They stumble, Jamie loses her grip and Kevin's face disappears into Sammy's armpit.

"Ugh," he grunts, "Dude!"

"Well you gotta hold him up!" Jamie shifts to bear more of Sammy's weight, laying a hand across his chest so he doesn't fall. His lungs rattle beneath her palm, his fever burning through his many layers of wet clothing.

With much grunting and cursing, Kevin wrestles Sammy's arm farther across his shoulder, reaching over to hitch him up by the ass of his jeans.

"Alright. Walk."

"Thank you," Sammy mutters deliriously. "You're crushing my balls, but thank you."

"Yeah. Yeah my fuckin' pleasure," Kevin says.

Jamie is too out of breath to tell him to shut it.

OOOO

Sammy and his long, unbendable leg just barely fit into the cab of the truck. They try several different positions, until finally Sam's back is up against the passenger window and Jamie is in the middle all squished up next to Kevin, the bad leg cradled in her lap.

Sammy's toes, poking out from the end of his cast, are wet and pruney and look _so _cold. Jamie can't help herself-- she uses her gloved hand to rub them warm again and Kevin scoffs.

"What?" She asks innocently.

As they continue down the road Sammy nods off quick as a drunk, then fusses himself awake, squirming against the passenger window.

"I can't leave her," he mutters, "He's gonna kill me... tell Dean my leg-- if it weren't for my leg--"

"Shhh, sweetie," Jamie says, reaching over to pat him on the chest. "We're gonna find your Dean."

"If there's a Dean to be found," Kevin grumbles.

They drive all the way up to the Kissing Curve before they spot him, hunched over in the rain, his collar popped around the wet fringes of his hair. He's holding something long and dark.

"Holy shit he's got a gun," Kevin squeaks. "Holy shit."

Dean turns, squinting into the headlights. His eyes are red-rimmed and feverish and vacant just like his brother's, his hair flat and slick on his forehead. He raises the weapon so it rests on his shoulder, the business end pointed toward the fullness of the moon.

It's just a shovel.

They can't hear him through the window but his mouth silently screams _Sam_, and he marches toward them, teeth bared, arranging the shovel like he plans to bash someone's head in.

"What should I do?" Kevin says, fumbling with the stick shift. "Jamie, what the fuck should I do?"

"He won't hurt you. He's my big brother." Sammy paws at the window for a moment and manages to roll it down.

"Dean don't," he says, "S'okay. Don't hit 'em, okay?"

"Their eyes might be black," Dean says, "Their eyes might be black, Sammy. Dad says."

Jamie can tell by the vacant expression, the graininess of his voice, the flush of his cheeks and the harshness of his breathing that Dean is much sicker than his brother. He's studying Sam with no real focus in his eyes, like he's seeing him in some alternate dimension.

It obviously confuses and pisses him off.

"Sam?" He says. "Sam why are you-- why are you in there?"

"Sweetheart," Jamie begins, but Kevin interrupts by knocking her frantically on the shoulder.

"Just push him out of the car. These two are obviously fucking insane."

"Shut up, Kevin," she says, turning her body to face Dean. "Honey, we found your brother down the road. He's real sick. You don't look so hot, either. Why don't you come home with us, huh? We'll put you in front of the fireplace or something."

"The hell we will," Kevin hisses, "Are you fucking in--"

"I said shut up."

Dean closes his eyes and reaches out to steady himself on one of the truck's side mirrors. He sneezes an exploding karate chop of a sneeze, one that sounds painful, then coughs violently, doubling over lower and lower until he's kneeling in the mud.

"I gotta get out," Sam announces, fumbling again with the door handle. "I gotta get the fuck outta this car. My brother's sick. I told him we shouldn't hunt the ghost tonight. I told him we were too fucked up. But he didn't listen, did you Dean? You don't listen to me."

Dean hawks something out of the back of his throat, sneezes again, then rights himself. "Don't talk about hunting ghosts in front of people." He looks blearily at Jamie. "Who are you?"

"They're not real," Sam says matter-of-factly. "I thought the girl looked like a lady in white at first, but she has a boyfriend."

Dean squints inside the cab of the truck. "Maybe uh-- maybe a man in white?"

"I don't know." Sam manages to open the door and wrestle his crutches out of the truck. "I'd have to do more research. Come on, Dean. Let's go find the ghost."

Dean holds the crutches steady (or maybe the crutches hold _him _steady) and watches swirly-eyed as his brother swings his casted leg out of the truck.

"Careful, Sammy," he says, briefly turning his head to cough into his shoulder. "I told you to stay in the car. I even put Ray LaDouchebag on for you."

"None of this is real, Dean. I'm dreaming. Why are you standing in the rain? You're sick. You're really sick."

Dean pulls a hanky out of his back pocket. "C'mere, you gotta booger hanging out your nose."

"Dean," Sam warns, turning his head away from the hanky. "This is _adult_ me. Remember that."

Dean reaches up and clips Sam's nose with the hanky, catching whatever real or imagined substance that might have been hanging out up there.

"DONNNN'T!" Sam protests in the practiced tone of a harassed three-year-old.

"Jesus Christ," Kevin knocks the car in reverse, "We're getting the fuck out of here."

"No," Jamie says, "we gotta take them with us."

Kevin gives her a dismissive snort, throwing his hand over the seat in preparation to back up and turn around. The brothers are already tottering away, Sam heavy and dangerously unsteady on his crutches, Dean weaving a half-drunken trail in the mud just ahead of him. And all the while they're being pelted by a steady stream of rain.

Jamie whips back around to Kevin. "Those boys are sick as fucking dogs."

Kevin closes his eyes. "Jame. I'm just saying--"

"--I don't give a fuck what you're saying."

"The guy was gonna attack us with a freakin' shovel, for god's sake. They could be dangerous."

"Oh please. They barely know what planet they're on. Park the car. That poor guy is gonna fall and break his other leg."

As if to prove her point, Sam stumbles in the mud. Dean's arms fly out to catch him and they escape a disastrous fall that triggers an almost-but-not-quite-hilarious bout of synchronized coughing. Sam drops his crutches and drapes himself over his brother's shoulder; Dean pets his brother's head in a lost, uncoordinated motion that further proves he has no idea what the fuck is going on.

"You see that?" Jamie shakes her head. "You're a medical professional, Kevin. Didn't you have to take some kind of oath?"

"I inseminate cows!"

"You do more than that! You-- you-- help the cows give birth."

"I don't think either of those dudes are pregnant. God I hope not."

"But you must know something! Can't you call that dick friend of yours? The doctor?"

"He's a _cow _doctor."

"So what? We can't just leave them out here. The pretty one sounds like he has pneumonia."

Kevin scowls. "And which one's the pretty one?"

"Shut up. Get out of the car."

"We'll call the sheriff."

"Vernon'll be tanked by now and you know it. Texes Hold 'Em night at Larry's."

"State troopers?"

"Kevin. Park the goddamn car."

Kevin sighs a long suffering sigh and takes his sweet-ass time parallel parking the truck, with infuriating precision, between two rocks. Then he rummages through the glove box looking for something to light his bowl, and by the time he's good and stoned and they walk up to the old grange hall and feed store, Dean is already destroying Emily's memorial with the edge of his shovel.

"Oh my god," Kevin says, throwing his arm out to shield Jamie from going any further.

Jamie pushes past him, breaks into a jog, ignoring how her Doc Martens are kicking up mud. "Hey! Dean, sweetie... stop. Please? Don't... don't do that."

Dean doesn't seem to hear her. He keeps beating away at the plastic box, which is apparently stronger than it looks.

Sammy crutches over to her as she runs up, and he bends way way down to rest his head on her shoulder. "I don't feel good," he says.

Dean beats on the memorial until it cracks down the middle, shattering into six or seven big chunks.

"Sammy." Dean throws down the shovel and produces what looks like a salt shaker from his pocket. "You're supposed to be laying down. It's only been two days."

Sammy rights himself. He opens his mouth to reply but a cough comes out instead, crackling and gooey, and as if in response Dean begins to cough too, coughing and shaking salt on the policemen bear.

Jamie's not sure what to do and Kevin is still lagging somewhere behind her, so she just watches as Dean coughs and fumbles in his pockets, finally producing a Zippo.

Then he sets the bear on fire.

"Hey," Sam says, lightly elbowing her arm, "You should watch out, cause sometimes the ghost'll come out and toss you around a little bit before it dies. S'how I broke my leg."

"Okay honey," she says, putting her hand on his shoulder and christ, he's probably burning hotter than the goddamn teddy bear.

"Dean?" She calls. "Let's go now, okay? You killed that ghost totally dead. Um. Good job. I think you might need a hospital."

Dean looks at her with that odd, teary, wild animal look. The shovel and the burning bear forgotten, he puts the Zippo back in his pocket and starts barreling toward her. "Give him back."

Jamie tries to step back but Sam has dropped his crutches, again, and is leaning heavily on her. "What?"

"What's your name?" Sam says, like his brother isn't about to charge her.

"Get the fuck away from him," Dean says, looming ever closer. "You're lucky I don't got my demon-killing knife."

Okay, so maybe Kevin was right.

"Please, Dean," she calls as he weaves his way toward her, "I don't-- I'm just helping him stand up, okay?"

Dean stops in his tracks. She can tell he's used to being in control and is genuinely upset by his loose grip on reality. Tears are beginning to fall from his eyes and he's sniffling miserably. He looks at his brother.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, Dean."

"I feel like shit. I can't _think_."

"Me too. My leg hurts."

"Your leg?"

"Yeah."

"What happened? Are you hurt?"

Sammy looks blearily down at his cast. "We already fixed it, Dean."

"Did we kill the ghost?"

Just over Dean's shoulder the bear explodes into high blue flames. She swears she hears shrieking. But then it's gone.

"I think so. I think it's dead."

"Let's go to sleep, huh?" Dean reaches down to pick up Sam's crutches. "You should have your leg up."

He hands his brother the crutches, hovering until he's confident that Sam is standing steady.

Then his eyes roll up and he falls face first into the mud.

OOOO

With a gasp Sam drops one crutch and drapes himself over Jamie again-- she's going to tie them to his goddamn armpits, she swears-- so there's not a damn thing she can do but watch as Kevin straddles Dean, trying to pull him up but can't budge him an inch.

And it's still raining.

"Dean," Sam groans, "Dean, get up."

He's sagging heavier and heavier against Jamie; her knees are starting to buckle.

"Kevin," she gasps. "Hurry?"

He drops Dean's head with huff. "I'll go get the truck."

"It's just gonna sink in the mud."

Kevin surveys the expanse of black gunk surrounding the Kissing Curve. They're practically in the freaking Swamps of Sadness. His boots are sunk up to the laces.

"Nah," he says, "I can totally get us out of here."

"Yes," Sam says, "if you can please get us out of here."

"F--fine," Jamie wheezes as Sam arm locks around her neck. "Just-- something."

Kevin stands there for a moment, still straddling Dean. The lower lip comes out and quivers, just a little. Kevin is awesome at the lower lip.   "Jame?

"What?"

"Can I... can I have a kiss?"

He's got to be shitting. She can't believe-- she's being practically choked to death, and he wants to make out? Seriously, men are all so--

Then it dawns on her very suddenly.

"Kevin... are you... are you _jealous_?"

Kevin says nothing, but his nostrils flare just a little, and that means yes.

She makes at face at him, unbelieving. "Go get the truck. Just. Go get the goddamn truck."

Of course as soon as he's gone, Sam begins to sway dangerously. He switches all his weight to his bad leg; his eyes fly open.

"Oh god," he says. "Oh _fuck_ my leg."

Luckily he's still got his crutch on his good side, because startled by the pain he leans to the right and hops a few steps away from her. She dives for the other crutch, pushing it under his armpit before he falls.

"Thank you," he says, and then looks and seems to really see her for the first time.

"I'm Jamie," she says preemptively. "You're burning up with fever, honey. You're delirious."

The information doesn't seem to register, though, because by then Sam has spotted his brother. Kevin had managed to turn him on his side so he wouldn't drown in mud, and that's about it. It's still just mostly his head that's turned, he's lying at a very disturbing angle. Like a discarded corpse.

With his wits about him, Sam is suddenly limber as hell. He drops both crutches and in one good hop is right next to his brother. He swings the bad leg in front of him and lowers himself to the ground, drags his brother into his lap by the armpits like he doesn't weigh an ounce.

"Jesus he's burning up," Sam says. "Dean? Hey. Dean?"

"My old man's bringing the car around," Jamie offers, "We can take you guys to a hospital."

"He'll be fine," Sam says unconvincingly. "He'll be fine."

Jamie sees her own shadow stretch; she turns and squints into the beam of the truck's headlights. Thank god he had the good sense to come quickly this time.

But the truck is sinking in the mud even as it's approaching. Kevin makes it within ten feet of them before the tires start to spin uselessly in the muck. She stands there watching them spin for god knows how long, for the first time feeling the rain beat down on her head. At her feet, Sam murmurs softly to his brother, the tiniest hint of fear in his voice because Dean isn't answering.

Kevin gets out of the truck and throws up his arms.

He's five foot seven, a mere two inches taller than herself, and weighs less and has no upper body strength to speak of, and now they're babysitting two very large, very sick men, one who's half-crippled and the other unconscious and immobile. It's only a matter of time before Sammy starts _really _feeling his broken leg. And they've got nothing in the truck but crackers, Pabst and pot. Maybe a Band-Aid in the glove compartment.

"Kevin," she says, "you got your phone on you?"

Kevin throws back his head and laughs miserably. "Hell no, Miss 'I Wanna Pretend It's 1994 Again.'"

"Great." She turns to Sam. "Can we use your phone, honey?"

"Uh...." he digs in his pocket, produces the phone. "It died."

It's really cute, how hard Sam concentrates on wiping the endless rain water off his brother's face.

Too bad cute's not gonna get them the hell out of here.


	2. Chapter 2

PART TWO

They don't know what the fuck to do besides try and get out of the rain.   Sam manages to maintain consciousness and crutch along by himself as Jamie and Kevin drag Dean to the doorstep of the old grange hall, and he'd sure make a fantastic supervisor-- watch his head, watch his arm, don't you fucking drop him and so on.

Once they've got Dean safely on the steps, Kevin sets to work trying to bust the door open. It looks like it's about ready to fall off the hinges but nothing happens when he kicks.

"Try angling your body so your dominate side is facing the door," Sam says drowsily after Kevin's sixth or seventh failed attempt, "kick down lower. Closer to the doorknob."

Kevin gives Sam a huffy, bitchy little look, but he listens, and the door flies open.

"Okay one at a time," Jamie says. "Should we carry the big one or the little one first?"

"Which one's the little one?"

"This guy here," she answers, pointing at Dean.

Kevin nods, and they take Dean by the arms and legs and drag him inside.

The place is a freakin' Halloween party inside, exposed beams, a drop-ceiling of cobwebs. Big gaping holes in the hardwood floors. Toward the middle of the room, a blackened brick fireplace with a stone hearth. The rain beats down on the roof so loud she can still almost feel it on her head.

"Salt doors 'n windows," Dean mutters.

"Well, let's set him anywhere, I guess, " Jamie says to Kevin. "By the fireplace?"

Dean hasn't moved when they come back half dragging Sam, who waits until they set him next to his brother to lose consciousness, god bless him. Kevin rigs the door closed with a folding chair.

"Alright Mother Theresa," he says, huffing and throwing himself to the floor near Sam and Dean's feet. "Now what?"

It's a really great question. Jamie opens her mouth, closes it and shrugs. Kevin mirrors her shrug, produces his pipe from his pocket. He takes a mighty hit and blows the smoke at Sam and Dean.

"That's real cute," Jamie says. "Gimme that."

"Get his leg up," Dean mutters. They both turn to him. His eyes are open, just barely. He sits upright, sneezes and wipes it on his pants. "Gotta get his leg up."

He wrestles his muddy jacket off, turns it inside out and folds it into a pillow. He crawls on his hands and knees to the end of his brother's mile-long leg. Jamie helps him prop up the cast. Then he half crab-walks, half drags himself to the hearth and slumps against it. He coughs wetly, studying Jamie and Kevin with barely-open eyes.

"Who the fuck are you?" He says, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

Jamie repeats what she told Sam earlier, about the Impala, about getting stuck in the mud. To preserve his dignity, she leaves out the part about the teddy bear.

"Did I set the teddy bear on fire?" He asks. "Did I pour salt on it and set it on fire?"

"Um. Yes."

Dean nods, or rather his head twitches a little bit. "Did Sammy lock my doors? _Please _tell me he locked my doors."

"Of course," Jamie says, though she has no idea. She has a feeling the truth isn't going to help right now.

"One of you needs to go get my car, drive it up close enough to get us out of here," Dean says, clearing his throat and wincing like it hurts. He digs his keys out his pockets. "I'm not leaving my brother. Not here. Not with you. No offense."

He tosses them the keys.

"None taken," Jamie says, catching them.

Sam makes a little groaning noise in his sleep, his face pinching up.

"He's hurtin'." Dean pats down his shirt and jeans. "I don't-- I don't have... do you guys-- do you have anything for pain?"

"Pot and beer, dude," Kevin says.

Dean looks to Jamie, who shakes her head.

"You check my brother's pockets?"

James and Kevin stare at him blankly.

"Man's got a broken leg and you don't check his pockets for pain meds?"

He scoots his way to Sam's middle and wedges his hands into his brother's jeans and jacket pockets, comes up empty.

"Goddamn it Sam," he says. "Seriously? You people don't even carry fuckin' aspirin?"

Jamie and Kevin shake their heads.

"Fuckin' civilians," Dean mutters. He checks all his pockets again, and then Sam's pockets, pulls out no less than five wallets and rummages through them.

With surprising force he chucks one of the wallets across the room; Kevin and Jamie flinch.

"Mother _fucker,_" he says, and leans into the crook of his elbow and coughs until his face is bright red.

"Easy," Jamie says, "Everything'll... we'll get the car, okay?"

Still choking, Dean pretty much collapses on the hardwood floor. "I think I have a fever. Sammy's... don't let him hurt, okay? He's such a bitch when he's hurtin'."

And then his eyes roll up and he's gone again.

OOOO

They ransack the truck and all the cupboards and shelves in the grange hall kitchen, every nook and cranny of the place. Sam comes around shortly after, rising from the dusty floor with a groan, gripping the cast with white, trembling hands. Jamie shoots Kevin a look, warning him to keep his mouth shut while Sam gets himself under control.

It's a long time before the pain quiets down, several measured breaths followed by mildly hysterical jesus-christ-it-hurts laughter. Jamie tries not to stare, and elbows Kevin when he sighs impatiently.

Finally Sam surveys their findings, which, for reasons Jamie can't really explain, they display for his approval in neatly categorized piles: half a roll of Tums, six cans of Pabst, four ancient teabags, half a roll of crackers, three tea cups, a bag of coffee and a saucepan.

Sam looks at all of it and rubs his eyeballs raw with his thumb and forefinger.

"Seriously?" he says. "Are you... what... what the hell you expect me to do with all this?"

Jamie and Kevin exchange glances, and Kevin speaks first. "It's five miles back to your car, at least. We thought. Well. We thought..."

"You thought what? That we should all enjoy a nice cup of tea and biscuits? None of this looks like it's going to help us get the fuck out of here."

"I like you better when you're delirious," Jamie says.

"You like him?" Kevin says. "What's that supposed to mean, you like him?"

"I'm sorry," Sam says to Jamie, "I don't mean to be rude. My leg is just--"

Something above them rumbles, the floor trembles, then a series of cracking noises so deafening that Dean moans "Shuh up, Smmy" in his delirium and all their hands fly to their ears.

Jamie looks up toward the ceiling just as it crumbles away, a gaping hole opening up in the roof, bringing with it a torrent of rain, wood and debris. Outside the clouds thunder, the sky flashes. The wind skates over the newly-made hole, howling at such an incredible volume she thinks her eardrums might dissolve.

"The car," Dean calls over the noise, hauling himself sitting. "Get the fucking car or we're all going to Oz!"

"What?" Kevin shrieks, his hands still cupped over his ears.

Dean opens his mouth to scream again, but hunches forward, and Jamie can't hear anything over the storm but judging from the way his shoulders jerk, it's his worse coughing fit yet.

Jamie reaches into the pocket of Kevin's drenched cardigan and pulls out the car keys, waggling them in front of his face.

His mouth moves: _but it's like a fucking hurricane out there. _

_Go or we're breaking up_, Jamie mouths back.

Kevin nods. He pushes lips out, smacking them together to make what would be kissy noises, if she could hear them. She rolls her eyes and leans in. She intends just a peck, but the next thing she knows their teeth are scraping together and his tongue is fighting its way into her mouth. She makes a disgusted noise that's swallowed up by the roar of the storm, and shoves him away.

"NOW IS NOT THE FUCK--" She begins, but stopped dead when she realizes that everything has gone silent. No wind, no thunder, no nothing but Dean, who's still curled up with his brother's arm slung around his back, panting in wet, hacking gasps.

"God, he can barely breathe," Sam says.

"Do you hear that?" Jamie gestures to the hole in the ceiling. The rain is still falling, the sky flashing white with lightening, water and moss and twigs and branches waterfalling down into the hall. But there's no sound, no sound at all.

"What the hell did you do?" Sam says.

"I-- me? Nothing. I-- what the hell is going--"

"--why can't we hear the storm?" Kevin demands. "Why can't we hear the fucking storm?"

"JUST SHUT IT, both of you," Sam roars.

Something changes about him-- he's no longer like a sweet, lost, sick young kid. His slanted eyes narrow, his nostrils flare, his chest expands to its full breadth and it occurs to Jamie right then that the man is absolutely huge and scary and means business.

She closes her mouth, hears Kevin's mouth clicking shut beside her.

Sam looks to the silent ceiling, back to Dean, who's still hunched and coughing so hard and fast that his face has purpled and he can't seem to get any air. He looks to the ceiling again, then back at Dean, like he can't figure out which to deal with first.

"What was the last thing you did? I don't care what it was, just tell me."

"Um..." Jamie says.

"Hurry up. Think."

"Kevin kissed me?" Jamie supplies desperately. "He kissed me, that's it. We're-- we're gonna get your car, okay?"

Lips moving, eyes searching the floor, Sam rubs frantically over Dean's shoulders. His brother is sinking to the ground, folding in half as he hacks and hacks and hacks.

"Do you know the story? Of what happened here?" Sam says.

"... of what happened here?"

"Emily Ames and Andrew Floyd. Emily was killed by Andrew Floyd. _Think._"

"Emily was killed-- yes. Yes of course. My-- my older brother went to school with them."

"What happened to Andrew?"

"What happened to...?" Jamie sounds like a damn brain-damaged parrot, and she knows it, but fuck, the look on Sam's face-- like he's going to cry over his brother and murder them all at the same time.

He seems to notice he's scaring her, and softens his eyes, relaxes his face. His eyes shine at her with earnestness.

"I don't mean to scare you, Jamie," he says softly, "But you have to tell me what happened to Andrew after he killed her. It's important, okay? It's really fucking important."

Jamie nods. She feels Kevin squeeze her hand and though she knows it's just trying to be supportive, it takes all her will not to shove him away.

"He disappeared," she said.

"After the Ames girl died," Kevin says, "He was in the county jail. He disappeared the night he killed her, the night he was arrested. Escaped somewhere, is what people say."

The whole time Kevin speaks, Jamie can hear a low howling, like sound is returning, almost inaudible at first but swelling louder and louder. It's not like the wind, it's different, almost human, almost like an angry human, almost like a--

"Ghost," Sam says. "Shit. Dean? You gotta breathe, dude. You gotta wake up. It wasn't Emily, do you hear me? It wasn't Emily's ghost who was killing those boys. It was Andrew. It was fucking Andrew."

Dean has quieted a little, but his shoulders are still rising and falling rapidly; he has fallen against Sam, panting shallow breaths into his brother's shoulder.

"'M'okay," he says, though he clearly isn't. "'M'okay... let's... kill... Kev... in..."

"Delirious," Sam says apologetically to Kevin and Jamie. "Dean. I'm talking about the ghost. We're not killing Kevin."

Dean shakes his head, his arm pointing over Sam's shoulder. "Kev..."

Jamie turns her head to follow Dean's arm.

Kevin's still kneeling on the floor and there's a dark figure looming over his shoulder. It's Andrew, she recognizes him from the all her father's "Ames Killing" memorabilia. His In Utero shirt is torn and bloody. There's a massive dent in his face, the skin is broken like it burst open, exploded muscles crusty with black blood, dripping from his face, from his shaggy hair. One eyes dangles from its socket, resting sightlessly on his cheek.

"The lady says no," it says, in a voice that's alarmingly normal.

He reaches down, puts his hands on the either side of Kevin's face. Kevin's mouth freezes into an terrified O; tears pour from his fluttering eyes.

"Oh God," Jamie says, almost like a statement, and she's surprised at her tone, how flat and insincere it sounds. The rational part of her brain tells her it's shock. Because there is _so_ not a ghost in front of her, _so_ not a ghost about to crush Kevin's skull.

The ghost of Andrew Floyd starts to pick Kevin off the ground by the head, slowly twisting his neck. "The lady says no," he repeats.

"Jamie," he cries, "Jamie."

"Jamie tell him it's okay," Sam orders. "Now. Tell him it's okay."

"It's okay, Kevin. It's--"

"Not Kevin-- the ghost. Tell the ghost you give your consent."

Andrew lifts Kevin up over his head, until his feet aren't touching the ground, until he's kicking, dangling. His face goes red; his cries become chokes.

"Jamie!"

"It's okay," Jamie finally manages to say, "It's okay if he kisses me, it's okay if he shoves his tongue down my fuckin' throat just _don't kill him_."

"Boys like you," Andrew says to Kevin, "Boys like you don't know how to be a gentlemen. My mama taught me. I didn't mean it. Emily fell. I wasn't tryin' nothing. She _fell_."

Kevin responds with more choking, more sputtering, his tongue bulging from his mouth like an overstuffed sausage casing.

"It's okay goddamn it!" Jamie shrieks. "I'm a grown woman! I'm a grown fucking woman and I say he can kiss me all he wants!"

The ghost studies her. He moves Kevin out of the way to look at her better, the dangling eye bobbles sickeningly on his cheek, a ribbon of blood sliding so perfectly down his jaw from the gaping hole in his head that it almost seems rehearsed.

Then he vanishes.

Kevin drops with a wheeze. He scrambles across the dusty floor and he folds himself into her arms, shaking.

"Hey," Sam says in a distinctly no-bullshit voice. "I know that was scary but we-- something's wrong. He's sick-- Jesus Christ, he's really sick."

Dean is limp in his arms, mouth agape. He's panting, rapid and shallow, his teeth clattering. His face is dead white except for two fever-red patches high on his cheeks.

Sam's right, the man should be in a hospital and it's unfortunate that he isn't. It really is, and if it were Jamie's brother, she'd be scared to death, too, but--

"What the fuck was that?" She demands, squeezing Kevin when he flinches at the sound of her voice. "What the hell... what the hell just happened?"

"A ghost," Sam says, but doesn't take his eyes off Dean. He grips his brother's cheek. "It was a ghost. Dean, you gotta wake up for me, dude. We're not done yet, huh? Wake up for me."

"That was a..." God, Jamie doesn't even want to say it out loud. "That was an honest to god--"

"--not fucking tonight," Sam snaps, "We don't have time. Ghosts are real, wrap your head around it later. We gotta find his body."

"His body?"

Kevin releases his death grip, lifts his head and repeats, "his body?"

Sam looks at them both like he'd love to rip their faces off. "Forget it, alright? Just. Do either of you have any medical training? Any at all?"

"Kevin's a vet tech."

"Hey," Kevin says, holding up his palms. "I work in a fucking beef mill, okay? I don't know shit."

"Please," Sam says, and there's that earnest expression again-- it comes on and off like a light. "Just take a look at him for me, okay? Please."

Kevin nods, crawling across the floor. He puts his ear to Dean's back. "I don't know, man. If he were a cow, I'd say he was a cow with pneumonia. There's not a lot we can do. He needs a hospital."

"Bullshit," says a voice, they all jump, can't tell where the sound came from. "M'fine."

Sam is the first to figure out it's Dean. He smiles, gently slaps the side of his brother's face. "Hey. Welcome back."

Dean's eyes flutter; he can't seem to open them. "Who... Emily's... father?"

"Huh?" Kevin says.

"Emily's father," Sam clarifies. "Who was Emily's father?"

"The sheriff," Jamie says. "Her father was the sheriff. Poor bastard drank himself to death."

"Under..." Dean stops to swallow, cough weakly. There's rusty colored gunk in the corners of his mouth. "the memorial... look..."

"Where the teddy bear was," Sam says. "Maybe that's where he buried Andrew."

"After who buried him?"

Sam rolls his eyes murderously. "The boyfriend accidentally killed the sheriff's daughter. Sheriff takes the law into his own hands, kills the boyfriend, buries him underneath her memorial. Haven't you ever seen a fucking TV show?"

There's nothing to say, really. Jamie picks a fleck of nail polish off her thumb.

"We have to salt and burn his body," Sam continues. He looks down at his leg, his face crumbling like he's just now remembered that he's in pain.

"Kevin," he says through clenched teeth, "you're going to have to dig."

"What? Dig what?"

"The grave, idiot," Dean wheezes.

Which Kevin isn't pleased with, not at all. He crosses his arms. "With what fucking shovel?"

"My brother had a shovel. It must be somewhere out in the mud."

"What if we can't find it? It's probably sunk elbow deep by now in that cesspool out there."

Sam eyeballs the saucepan meaningfully.

"Oh no," Kevin says. "Oh _hell _no."

"Look at my leg. Look at him. You don't have a choice," Sam gestures to the hole in the ceiling. "You hear that silence? He's still here. Waiting for a reason to suck us all dry."

"I'll do it," Jamie says. "What do I have to do?"

Sam digs around in Dean's jacket pocket, producing a salt shaker and a travel-sized bottle of lighter fluid. "Dig it up. Sprinkle it with salt. This whole container. Then douse the bones, light him up."

"No," Kevin says, shielding Jamie from what, exactly, she doesn't know. "I'll do it."

Dean is quickly losing consciousness again, sinking in Sam's grip. Sam hitches him up, back over his shoulder like he's a sleeping toddler, and flicks a do-it-or-die expression to Jamie and Kevin.

"We don't have time to play who wants to be a hero," he says. He reaches into his jacket, then stops, glaring at them again. "I'm going to pull a gun out of my jacket, okay? Don't everybody start begging for their lives. It's for the ghost, not you. Got it?"

Kevin and Jamie nod; Sam reveals the gun and sets it on the floor.

"You," he says, nodding to Jamie, "Keep an eye on my brother. Help him stay upright so he can breathe." He sets a serious gaze on Kevin. "And you're digging."

Not even Kevin is dumb enough to argue. Jamie crawls forward, holding her arms out to take Dean, but Dean's eyes fly open, and he lifts his head to look at Sam.

"Dude no," he says, hacking. "Your leg."

"You know the rules, Dean," Sam answers with a wry smile. "You're hospital bad. Broken limbs trumps serious illness."

Dean looks for a moment like he might argue, but instead he bows his head and coughs hard enough to rattle the floor, and allows himself to be practically handed over to Jamie. He's wet and heavy and absolutely burning, his fever so high that steam rises from his wet clothes. At first he's tense, still coughing. But after a moment he heaves a sigh and relaxes into her shoulder.

"...gimme your arm," Sam is saying to Kevin. "I can pull myself up."

And he does, the muscles of his neck straining. As soon as he's upright, Kevin pushes the crutches underneath his arms and he stands there panting through the pain.

"Sam," Dean groans meaningfully.

"I'm going, Dean."

And they go, Sam crutching forward with determination, tense shoulders betraying his irritation, Kevin close behind with the saucepan, and if he had a tail it would be hidden between his legs.

She just sits for long minutes, holding Dean, who is still panting shallowly, harsh and wheezy.

"Your boyfriend is grade A douchebag," He mutters, trembling weakly with laughter.

"Well your brother is a scary asshole," she answers smoothly.

"You don't know that half of it."

"Don't I? Well that's terrifying."

He starts to cough again, and she shifts him so he's sitting more upright, her hands bracing his back and propping him up with by one bicep.

When he's done he wipes his mouth, gently pulling himself from her grip and sitting up by himself. He blinks rapidly as if trying to keep himself awake.

"He's just worried about me." Dean spots the cans of Pabst, up-ended on the floor. He pulls one off the ring, cracks it open with the flick of his finger, and takes a swig.

She follows suit, opening her own beer and gagging a little on the piss-bitter taste. She hates Pabst, insists that it tastes like urine just like any other cheap beer and that Kevin only drinks it because it's fashionable.

"Shit takes like piss," Dean says, clearing something from the back of his throat and spitting it across the floor. He looks around the room, eyes more aware but still glassy with fever. He pauses when he sees the hole in the ceiling, the silent rain flooding in.

"We're in the old grange hall," Jamie says before he can ask. "Are we going to die?"

It's weird, how she needed to ask the question but her fears won't exactly surface. It's like being stuck on a back road in the dead of night with a broken down car. After the mechanic pulls over to help, maybe you're still totally fucked with a broken down car and no money to fix it, but at least there's someone around who knows what they're doing.

"Nah," Dean answers, sipping again at his beer, wiping at his clogged and dripping nose. "Andy's not a bad guy. Worst case, his body's not under that teddy bear. Then we might have to find a way to clear his name or something. That'll take care of it." He wrinkles his nose, runs a hand over his sternum. "Chest is killing me."

"So you thought it would be a good idea to come out here and kill Andrew's ghost in the middle of a rain storm. While sick."

Dean shrugs. "They're getting ready to level this building. If his soul is tied to something, god knows where it'll end up, who it'll end up killing. Gotta keep this shit contained."

"So this is what you and your brother do?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "No offense? But I'm getting a little sick of this conversation. Yes, my brother and I hunt ghosts. Yes it's a crazy thing to do, yes our lives suck."

Jamie stares at him.

"This is the part where you tell me that we're heroes and that anyone would love to have our lives."

Jamie shrugs. "Sounds pretty sucky to me."

"Yeah," Dean says, an amused smile on his lips. Then he sighs. "Bet you anything, your boyfriend is going to start screaming in five, four, three, two--"

"OH MY FUCKING CHRIST!"

Jamie swears her eardrums cave in as the sounds of the storm come rushing back, the beat of the rain, the howl of the wind, the precarious _creak creak_ of the building's overstrained structure fighting to stay upright.

Over all that she can still hear the high whine of Kevin screaming. She jumps to her feet; Dean grips her arm tight, using the counterweight to pull himself up. She struggles to break free of her grasp-- Jesus Christ, he's probably getting killed out there-- but as soon as Dean is on his feet he sags against her, his arm hooked around her neck.

"Just stay here," She yells, but her voice is totally lost in all the noise. She manages to twist so she can see Dean's face. His eyes are rolling, whole body jerking as he coughs. But she feels him pulling her, toward the front door, and when they get there he releases his stranglehold, brings one foot up and kicks the door open. It flies right off its hinges, the folding chair on the other side flying out into the rain, landing upright in the mud like a tombstone.

The rain flies sideways into their faces, the wind pushing so hard she nearly falls back inside. She fights to keep her stinging eyes open. Dean is out ahead of her now, hunched against the elements.

She stops dead on the stoop of the grange hall, frozen.

The bad leg jutting away from his body at an odd angle, Sam is shoulder-deep in the mud, pulling what looks like a human femur out of a bubbling, sloppy hole just in front of the remains of Emily's memorial.

Kevin lies several feet away, spread-eagle on his back. His eyes are closed and the ghost of Andrew Floyd looms over him, just watching.

Oh. Fuck.

Dean fights his way through the rain and wind. He ignores Kevin, practically steps over him and doesn't even look up at the ghost. He throws himself down on his knees beside Sam and the hole and starts digging, throwing bits of bone onto the pile.

Sam unearths a jawbone, which he drops into the pile just as he's flung away from the hole by some invisible force. His body flies, twisting parallel to the ground like he's rolling down a hill. He slams into a nearby tree and is knocked unconscious, which is probably a good thing because when he falls to the ground his cast snaps in half, maybe where his leg bends at the knee, maybe not. Jamie can't tell.

She notices that Dean has turned to her, and his mouth is screaming but she can't make out what he's saying. She shakes her head helplessly, squinting to see his mouth.

His lips are forming: _Fire. Fire. Fire._

She runs, makes it not ten feet from the hole before Andrew materializes before her. The clots of blood on his face are unfettered by the rain. He snarls at her, in a blink his hands are squeezing at her cheeks. She can feel the tendons her neck stretch as he lifts her off the ground.   Her eyes roll toward Dean for help, but he's no longer at the grave. Her searches best she can without being able to move her head, frantically, desperately, until she spots him in the furthest corner of her vision, knelt over Kevin.

Dean lifts Kevin halfway off the ground with by the back of his neck. He pauses a moment, scowling at the sky. His lips move and she can't hear but she knows he's saying: _son of a bitch._

And then he sticks out his tongue and closes his mouth around Kevin's.

It's the most violent kiss she's ever seen.

The ghost of Andrew Floyd drops her immediately, roaring toward Kevin and Dean at otherworldly speeds.

She doesn't give herself time to think. She claws her way through the mud, to the pile of bones near the grave. Dean's Zippo and lighter fluid are waiting for her. Using her body to shield the bones from the rain, she douses them with one hand, squeezes every last drop out of the bottle while the other hand lights the Zippo.

The bones burst into flame, springing up so fast she feels her eyebrow singe. She spins, sees Andrew charging her, his body burning away even has he approaches.

By the time he rushes her, there's nothing left, just a cold that pushes through her, right down into her bones.

The adrenaline rushes out of her body and she sags in the mud, breathless. To her left, Kevin is crawling lethargically toward her, damn near unrecognizable slathered with mud and kicking up more.

Near the tree, she watches Dean gather Sam in his arms, pulling him to his chest, spreading mud over his one unmuddied cheek. Burying his nose in his brother's hair, he leans them back against the bark of the tree and falls unconscious once again.

This time his eyes don't even close all the way.


	3. Epilogue

PART THREE: EPILOGUE

"Broke it in a _fourth _place," Sam is telling them drowsily, gesturing at his elevated leg with a pulse-oxed finger.

He looks strange and different, now that he's clean and dry and normal except the cannula under his nose.

Especially since that night is just a wet, muddy blur that keeps getting muddier. It's almost like Jamie's meeting a different person, some stranger in a hospital bed.

Except not.

"Will your brother be okay?" She says.

Sam looks past she and Kevin to the other bed, where Dean is propped up and bluish and sleeping hard.

"Yeah," Sam says after a moment. "Sick as a fucking dog, but he'll live." He looks at Kevin and smiles. "Pneumonia. You were right."

"See?" Kevin says, proudly sticking out his chest. "I wasn't completely useless."

Sam snorts. "Dude. I been doing this my whole life, and I have never heard anyone scream like that. And you _fainted._"

Kevin bristles. "Motherfucker tried to kill me."

"Tried to kill all of us." Jamie shoves Kevin toward the door in a manner she hopes seems playful. "Get out. I want to talk to Sam alone."

Kevin's lower lip quivers.

"If you ask me for a kiss," Jamie says, "I swear to christ, I'll--"

"--okay," Kevin says, backing out the door. "Alright. I'm leaving."

When he's gone Jamie fixes a serious gaze on Sam. "Will you two really be alright?"

Sam waves a dismissive hand. "He's getting better. At worst I'll end up with a permanent limp."

"I mean, we have a spare bedroom, if you're released before Dean..."

But Sam is already shaking his head. "Don't worry about us. We'll be fine."

She nods, feels like she should say something but can't find the words.

It all seems unbearably tragic, Sam still sniffling and coughing with flu, his leg broken four times over. And Dean. Jesus. In the last week she's had nightmares, over and over, of Dean clinging to his brother like that was enough, like it didn't matter that they were sitting in a foot of mud, that Sam's leg was shattered. That they were almost killed by a ghost.

Dean was right. She wants to tell them they're heroes or something. Thank them. Give them a medal. Make it somehow worth it, to both of them.

"You want to thank us?" Sam says, as if he read her mind. "Go enjoy a happy life with your boyfriend."

Jamie's not sure about the "with your boyfriend" part, but she keeps that to herself.

She smiles and pecks Sam and Dean on the forehead and tells them goodbye.

::::

THE END.


End file.
